Sooooo, I don’t have a TV up here yet, but my time has been eventful. I don’t think I’ll ever need a TV actually. If New York is a lady, Bedstuy is the blade she keeps under her tongue.
I’ll start with my own epiphanies first. Fresh of the plane from Florida I was excited to immerse myself into the Brooklyn-ness of it all. Of course, I’ve visited before, but this time I was official, I had my own address, feel me? So, somehow I got the bright idea to walk to Prospect Park my second day here. NOT a good idea. Yes, I got a chance to see more of the neighborhood, and take notes on the subculture. but the walk was no small feat. I clocked over 7 miles. On this epic journey here a few things I noticed:
1. Random pockets of pee-pee: You may be walking along any road in Brooklyn, taking in the murals, enjoying the community gardens, marveling at the pulse and underlying rhythm around you, when all of a sudden you inhale deeply, hoping the ingest even a piece of its beauty to take with you. Only, you’ve inhaled at the worst moment imaginable, yes, you have taken in a lung full of the most sour, rank, stank-a-dank-dank pee you ever sniffed in your life. You’ve gone from thanking God for letting you participate in his grand percussion, to screaming “god-dammit!” sour that you just somehow got tricked into tasting the devil’s fart.
2. It’s all in the blending: I found that I blend in here perfectly fine – as long as I don’t talk. I can slip in and out of local shops, walk down blocks, chill in parks and everyone will just assume I’m somebody from up the street. Maybe someone their sister went to schools with or who used to attend their grandmother’s church. I’m regarded with the pensive familiarity that one would regard their cousin’s cousin of no relation. That is, up until I have to answer a question or ask for directions. Then the mood changes, with the men there is a glint of hope, of excitement, of “wow, someone who doesn’t know I’m full of shit.” With the women it’s a certain pity, like ” damn, i hope this chick knows these dudes are all full of shit.” {lol} With non-black people there is a hint of intrigue, the “wow, she’s not from around here” then the wide eyed glare to pick up on some nuance to assure themselves that, yes, I am indeed just as hood as their initial impression.
3. Oh, so this is where chivalry died? – It’s every woman for herself around these parts. No doors held open, no seats given up, no tip of the hat with a smile. But really, it goes beyond that. I know it’s some thick-skinned sistas in these parts, but the other day say a guy fighting a woman. No, like really fighting her, not pushing her – punching her, kicking her with timbs on. Worse yet, other guys were around and no one intervened.
That said, there’s still a sense of community here that is untouchable. When Jay says, ” we must not let outsiders violate our block” (hard knock life) i get it a little more. I think if the woman was being beaten by the cops or some outside entity, those same men would’ve jumped in on her behalf. It’s odd, but somehow it makes sence in Brooklyn.
